


rattle this ghost town

by blackkat



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Naruto
Genre: Angst, But at least he recognizes more than two of them, Could be considered kidnapping, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Established Relationship, Hibari is bad at feelings, Humor, M/M, Mukuro is also bad at feelings, Probably should be considered kidnapping, This is not how you adopt a child, Warning: Hibari, Warning: Mukuro, but it ends well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 22:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10228622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: He wonders if Hibari heard the whispers yesterday. More than likely not, since Hibari has never concerned himself with other people’s opinions. Mukuro did, though; Mukuro knows all too well what it’s like to be treated as a monster, an outcast, an abomination.(Or, Mukuro meets Naruto. Does it count as a fairy tale if the monsters are the ones getting the happy endings?)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on my Tumblr prompted Mukuro and Hibari in the Naruto world, and I fully intended it to be a drabble. Then I thought “hey, who would be the _absolute worst_ person to drop into a world full of child soldiers, child experimentation, and general violence against children? What about the man who went through _exactly that_ and was permanently scarred by it?” And what started as a cracky ficlet with Hibari being Done turned into Mukuro having feelings all over everything. I am not sorry.

“No,” Hibari says flatly.

Mukuro, of course, ignores him, smirking the whole time. He doesn’t take his eyes off the little blond boy sitting on the swing outside this world’s school—they _don’t have prefects_ , and something in Hibari is mortally offended by that—slumped over and dull-eyed.

Hibari has been around Mukuro almost ten years now, which is more than long enough to know _exactly_ what is going to happen next if he doesn’t step in.

“ _No_ ,” he says again, more biting this time, and grabs his fellow Guardian by the shoulder, wrenching him around and slamming him back against the wall of the building.

Mukuro hisses as his head collides with the wood, but that infuriating smirk doesn’t go away, and he lazily waves a hand. Instantly, the last few parents picking up their children look away, uninterested in whatever his illusions are showing them.

“Handsy, handsy, little skylark,” Mukuro taunts, but Hibari is watching and can see the way his mismatched eyes flicker back towards the blond boy again. “Was there something you wanted?”

Hibari growls, and yet again curses whatever bad luck landed him in this particular universe with this particular man.

Actually, he knows _exactly_ what it was—Byakuran. Byakuran wanted help with something, and then he said _oops_ , and when they get back Hibari is going to _bite him to death_. More than once. More than twice, if he gets the chance. Or as many times as possible before Tsuna inevitably shows up and pulls him off.

Even when it’s Byakuran, Tsuna has all of those ridiculous ideas about not killing allies. Hibari has never bothered with those, and he’s much better off for it.

“We’re leaving,” he tells Mukuro. “ _Now_.”

Without waiting for a response, he turns and stalks away, leaving the illusionist to catch up. There's a brief pause as Mukuro clearly debates whether it’s worthwhile, but after a handful of seconds Hibari catches the sound of his stupid high-heeled boots on the dirt. The sheer principle of Mukuro in heels offends Hibari, and not just because it makes the bastard noticeably taller than him. He is, very unfortunately, attractive in them, and it’s incredibly irritating.

Then again, practically everything about Mukuro irritates Hibari, so it’s probably not much of a surprise.

“Oya, oya,” Mukuro protests, falling into step with him. “If you want to sleep in the woods, pretty bird, that’s your choice. I already paid for my bed, and I plan on sleeping in it.”

For a given value of _paid_ , Hibari thinks, snorting, because whatever money Mukuro passed the innkeeper was definitely an illusion. The inn is ahead of them, and despite the crowds in the street Hibari makes for it, because he most certainly doesn’t intend to sleep outside tonight. For all his loathing of other people, Hibari is an urban creature, and moreover he likes his comforts.

That in this instance comfort and distracting Mukuro go hand in hand is just a bonus.

“Kyōya.” There's a thread of barely-audible irritation creeping into Mukuro’s voice as he follows Hibari up the stairs to the room he rented. “Tsunayoshi might be intimidated by the strong and silent act, but I hope you’ve realized by now that _I_ —”

Hibari grabs Mukuro by the collar and drags him up the last two steps even as he unlocks the door and kicks it open. There's a tingle of Mist Flames across his shoulders as Mukuro reacts, the familiar shape of his trident sweeping into existence and aiming right for Hibari’s head, but Hibari gets a tonfa out and up in time to block it, ducks in close and slams the other tonfa straight up towards Mukuro’s jaw. The illusionist leaps back, and Hibari instantly changes course, ducking low to sweep his feet out from under him and topple him right back onto the bed, setting his long, heavy earrings jangling as he hits the mattress and bounces.

“Oya,” Mukuro says, struggling to get an elbow under him. “Kyōya, as much as I appreciate the—”

“Shut up,” Hibari bites out, dropping his tonfas to the floor and kicking Mukuro’s legs apart to step between them. He plants one knee on the mattress, looming over the Mist Guardian, and reaches for the aggravatingly sloppy tie looped loosely around his neck. For a moment he debates pulling it tight, but it isn’t the time for that. Instead, he drags it loose in a slow, deliberate motion.

Red-and-blue mismatched eyes narrow, then go heavy-lidded as Mukuro’s smirk comes back. “How forward today, Kyōya. I like this mood you're in.”

Hibari scoffs, unbuttoning his suit jacket and tossing it to the side before he gives in to the urge that’s been nagging annoyingly at him all day. He gets his hands in Mukuro’s hair, dragging the band free and letting the long, dark blue strands spill across the pillows.

Mukuro is starting to chuckle, and that’s even more annoying than the heels, so Hibari stops it the best way he knows how. Leaning down, he takes Mukuro’s mouth in an aggressive kiss, biting at his lips until he moans. By the time they part, both breathless, Mukuro’s hands are undoing the last button on Hibari’s shirt, and he’s the one who drags Hibari down into the next desperate kiss.

Hibari answers it just as fiercely, and if they're going to be stuck here for who knows how long, waiting for Tsuna to browbeat Byakuran into admitting and then fixing his mistake, well.

There are far worse ways to pass the time.

 

 

Mukuro wakes to sunlight filling the room, the feel of a deceptively heavy body sprawled halfway over his back. With a faint grimace, he turns his head, letting the spill of his hair block at least some of the light, and tries to get an arm under himself to check the clock on the bedside table.

Except there isn’t one. This isn’t their room back at the Vongola mansion, secluded in one of the less-used wings. This is an entirely different world, full of ninja who don’t use Flames, because Byakuran dumped them here accidentally while trying to do…something.

As soon as they get back, Mukuro will see to it that the bastard never gets another bag of marshmallows that doesn’t have at least one cockroach in it. Preferably more.

Or, if he’s feeling really vicious, he’ll let Byakuran flirt with him where Hibari can see. The Millefiore boss definitely won't be a problem after that.

Stifling a chuckle—nothing short of a natural disaster will wake Hibari before he _wants_ to get up, but Mukuro would rather not risk it regardless—he shifts carefully, dragging himself out from under Hibari’s possessive sprawl and leaving the Cloud Guardian to bury himself in the pillows instead. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed makes him wince a little, because Hibari was _particularly_ thorough last night, but it’s an ache he doesn’t entirely mind, and he reaches for his pants and boots without lingering.

It’s easy enough to tell what Hibari was doing last night, and Mukuro wouldn’t even have to be particularly intelligent to figure it out. It’s obvious to anyone who pays attention that Tsunayoshi has started hounding Hibari in the hopes that the Cloud Guardian can control Mukuro’s tendency to pick up pathetic strays. Which, Mukuro assumes, differs from Tsuna's own habit of doing so only in the fact that most of Mukuro’s strays tend to have teeth and lots of attitude problems.

And, of course, that Mukuro will never actually _admit_ that it’s a habit.

Still. Things turned out well enough with Chrome, Chikusa, and Ken, and it’s amusing how often _useful_ people get thrown away by those around them. The more people Mukuro has inside the mafia, ready to be used by _him_ and devoted just because they see his cunning as loyalty, the easier it will be to take it down from the inside and burn the whole thing to the ground.

(He ignores, very carefully, the warm body at his back, the way ten years have passed with no action on his part. Hibari is a distraction, a dalliance, an indulgence. He’s simply fun to pick at, to get a reaction from, to sleep with, and maybe if Mukuro tells himself that enough times he’ll eventually come to believe it.)

This is a bit of interest, that’s all. A diversion from their situation, stuck here as they are, and while Mukuro has faith that Tsunayoshi will get them back eventually, he’s not one to suffer boredom well. All too often it puts him in mind of glass capsules and water and air only trickling in through a tube, of darkness and loneliness and the fear of dying all alone in the gloom with no one coming, no one caring.

He still has nightmares like that sometimes, even a decade after the Vindice freed him. There's nothing in the world Mukuro hates more than those dreams.

Taking a breath, he tugs the laces on his boots tight and focuses on the amusement he always feels when Hibari sees him in them—or, more accurately, when Hibari gets irritated with people looking at his ass because of them. Rising to his feet, he leans over the sleeping man, bending down to brush a teasing kiss across his cheek.

“So cute, skylark,” he mocks, even though Hibari isn’t awake to hear it. That just gives him an excuse to repeat it later, though, so it’s hardly a loss.

Retrieving his long coat from the foot of the bed, Mukuro drags it on, shoves his rather battered tie into a pocket, and picks up his abandoned trident. Hibari still isn’t moving, so Mukuro blows him a kiss and saunters out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Hibari is going to try to murder him for this.

That would, of course, be more than enough of a reason to do it, even if Mukuro didn’t already want to.

 Chuckling to himself, Mukuro heads down the stairs at an easy lope, bypassing the main room and heading out into the streets. There isn’t too much of a crowd, and Mukuro mingles easily, building illusions in his mind as he goes. Three-piece suits—two-piece, in Mukuro’s case, but then he’s never been fond of vests—don’t exactly blend in here, and while Hibari’s tonfas might pass muster, his trident is getting sidelong looks.

If they're going to stick around until Byakuran comes looking for them, Mukuro would rather they do it from outside of a jail cell. Or, in the more likely scenario, not on the run, because no illusion Mukuro can craft would be enough to get Hibari to come quietly with any sort of police force. They’ve had enough trouble with that sort of thing in Italy, and while Mukuro usually finds it _vastly_ entertaining, it will probably be less so when Mukuro is the one left with damage control, rather than Tsunayoshi.

Of course, he could always just let Hibari run loose and watch things dissolve into a glorious mass of chaos while he laughs in the background, but then Tsunayoshi will be disappointed and call them into his office and _look at them_ in that particular way he does. It makes Hibari fold like wet cardboard, which is slightly mystifying but can probably be explained by Hibari’s weakness for cute things. More inexplicable is the way it surgically removes _Mukuro’s_ spine, but, well. He’s getting used to it, ten years in. Kind of.

It’s still a situation best avoided whenever possible, so Mukuro will reluctantly ride herd on Hibari until some sort of rescue arrives. In his own way, of course.

Humming faintly to himself, Mukuro passes behind a twisted maple and comes out on the other side with clothes more in line with those the locals are wearing. Not the dark blue uniform, because uniforms mean organizations and those are generally maintained, and Mukuro doesn’t have enough information there yet—but simple. Nothing particularly remarkable, nothing flashy, and he tries to tone down what Gokudera calls the “serial killer demon bloodlust slant” in his smile.

For all his usual dramatics, Mukuro wouldn’t have made it nearly as far in life without the ability to slip into a place unnoticed, and he puts it to work now. These shinobi might be a bit more suspicious than most, but Mukuro once fooled the entirety of the Millefiore.

He ignores the fact that Byakuran saw though him, because that Byakuran was different and can't be counted. Besides. All he wants is to talk to a little boy that no one appears to like anyway. How hard could it be?

“Hey!” someone calls, loud and cheerful. “You! Pretty guy! With the hair!”

Mukuro has something of a bad feeling about this.

He ignores the voice, because that’s hardly a description that singles him out, and picks up his pace slightly, aiming to lose anyone after him in the maze of streets. There's less of a chance here than there would be back in Italy, or even Japan, but—

A hand closes over his shoulder, and instinct has Mukuro jerking around, the illusions on his trident shattering as he flips it up to level at his captor’s throat in one swift movement.

“Whoa, whoa!” the uniformed teenage boy who grabbed him ducks back out of reach, raising his hands peaceably. He’s tall, on eye level with Mukuro, with messy black hair and red eyes, pupils shaped like a pinwheel. The way he balances on the balls of his feet says he’s a danger, and his cheerful smile makes Mukuro absolutely sure he is. “Whoops, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oya, oya, do you make a habit of grabbing strangers?” Mukuro asks lightly, though rather than lower his trident he simply takes two steps back. The crowd has parted around them, and although they're getting a few cautious looks, no one’s moved to step in. He matches the boy’s smile, mostly to make a point, and tries not to tense when someone passes too close behind him. “I'm surprised you still have all your fingers if that’s the case.”

“Only the really pretty ones,” the boy says cheerfully, though his eyes are watchful, careful, flickering over Mukuro’s torso as he waits for the motion of muscle that will telegraph a swing.

“Flatterer,” Mukuro retorts, but lets his smile turn sly. “Was there something you wanted, then?”

The boy grins, clearly hearing the flirtatious thread behind his words. “I think I could want a lot of things,” he jokes. “Especially with you. But for right now, how the _hell_ can you cast a genjutsu that strong?”’

Inwardly Mukuro curses his lack of information on this world—they only landed here yesterday morning, and he’s had enough time to create an outline of the basics—competing villages full of shinobi, no Flames, no mafia, far too much military rule for his comfort—but none of the specifics.

“Practice, practice, practice,” he says lightly, and even though he wants to doesn’t let himself take a step back.

Something flickers across the boy’s face, and he shifts just slightly closer. “I'm an _Uchiha_ ,” he says, and clearly that’s supposed to mean something. “You just changed your clothes with a genjutsu I can't see through. You're going to have to give me more than that, no matter how pretty you are.”

Mukuro swears at himself in twelve languages and three dialects, but doesn’t let his smile waver. He could have _sworn_ there were no eyes on him when he cast his illusion, but apparently he wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have. It’s easier in worlds where no one thinks such things are possible, and therefore doesn’t look for them to have happened at all. Here is something a little different.

He thinks, for a moment, of picking a fight. It would be interesting, matching himself against a shinobi, and one with some idea of illusions to boot. But—

The village burning down. Tsunayoshi. The Disappointment Face. Mukuro fixes that image in mind and tries not to wince at the effect just imagining it is having.

“It’s a Family talent,” he says finally, and no one else would hear the capital letter there unless they were already involved in the mafia.

To his surprise, rather than continuing to push, the boy deflates slightly. “Damn it. You know, you could have just said it was a kekkei genkai in the first place,” he complains.

Mukuro goes with it, because the answers other people come up with are usually the ones they accept most readily. “Oya, I wasn’t expecting to be quizzed like that.” He leans lightly against his trident, smile as harmless as he can make it.

The boy rolls his eyes. “You're in _Konoha_ ,” he says, as if that explains everything. A glance, looking Mukuro over in a way that’s more threat-assessment than sexual, and he adds, “I don’t see a hitai-ate. Are you unaffiliated?”

“Are you asking if I'm taken?” Mukuro teases, giving him a glance from beneath his lashes.

It gets him a laugh, bright and amused, and a grin. “Absolutely,” the boy answers, leaning in. “Uchiha Shisui, definitely not asking for a friend.”

“Mukuro,” he returns, and when Shisui doesn’t even blink at the lack of a family name he adds, “Personally spoken for, professionally on vacation.”

“Aww.” Shisui retreats, though he favors Mukuro with a pout. “You know, I thought you had a Sharingan at first, with your eye like that.” A blink, and the red fades out of his eyes, leaving them coal black.

Mukuro doesn’t tense, but it’s a near thing. “Imagine that,” he says lightly. “I'm honored.”

Apparently this isn’t too strange of a response, because Shisui just grins. “Hey, I know Copy-Nin Kakashi—where else was my brain supposed to go?”

“Back to whatever it was doing before,” Mukuro prompts, because if he delays any longer Hibari will wake up and sniff him out like a bloodhound. It’s a fun game, for the most part, but Mukuro doesn’t have time for it today.

“Well, you're no fun,” Shisui complains, but he takes a step back and waves cheerfully enough. “Sorry to bother you, then. It’s a neat trick with the genjutsu.” There's a swirl of leaves like an errant whirlwind, and the boy is suddenly gone without a trace.

Mukuro doesn’t allow himself to relax, though he loosens his posture and hides his trident again. He didn’t sense the boy’s eyes on him the first time, and he’s not going to risk being followed. It offends him on principle.

Turning, he steps back into the crowd like nothing happened, and is relieved when no one does more than glance at him. A militaristic, mercenary-based society speaks of violence being more common, and therefore unremarkable. It’s nice to have _something_ play out to his expectations here.

Sparks of indigo Flame crawl over the ring on his hand, dancing in the gem for a moment before bleeding out into the air. Mukuro pays it no attention, keeps his head up and his eyes forward as if he’s thinking of nothing but where he wants to go. In the press, a shoulder slams into his as a man hurries past, and in an instant too fast for any eye to catch Mukuro switches their appearances. The man wearing his image turns left off the main street, and Mukuro keeps going, pace swift, and ducks around another corner. For good measure, he casts another illusion in the man’s image, letting it hurry ahead, and borrows the face of a woman he saw disappearing into a shop several minutes ago.

As he steps back into the main road, several uniformed shinobi brush past, following the illusion of the man, and Mukuro turns his head away to hide his smirk. Illusions might have no hold on those who don’t recognize them as reality, but realizing that something is fabricated is an entirely different thing than accepting it as wholly false. It’s nice to know that even here the distinction holds true.

Content in his success, Mukuro keeps his steps easy but purposeful as he heads deeper into the village. There are groups of children on the street, with parents and without, some wearing the hitai-ate that seems to mark a shinobi and traveling in threes. He watches them without seeming to, and—

The Estraneo wanted soldiers, and didn’t care for their age. They lived on dreams of restored glory and might, and told the children in their care that it was an honor to die in the experiments. Mukuro remembers it all too well, and if he hates the dreams of the Vindice prison, he _loathes_ even the shadows of those memories, too close to the surface to ever be nightmares.

The shaft of his trident creaks under the grip of his hand, and Mukuro forces himself to take a breath and let it out, slow and careful. Tsunayoshi has always been kind or cunning enough to leave rumors of child trafficking or experimentation to Mukuro and his subordinates. Mukuro normally does his best to keep his viciousness in check, because Tsuna asks it of him and is very difficult to say _no_ to, but—

Bastards who use children deserve nothing less than the rivers of blood and destruction he leaves behind him when he finds them.

Tsunayoshi had better recover them from this dimension very quickly, or Mukuro isn’t going to be held responsible for any of his more…apocalyptic actions.

The place he and Hibari came across last night was some sort of school—Hibari’s expression upon learning there weren’t any prefects running things was _particularly_ amusing—but as far as Mukuro can tell by the number of children about it isn’t in session today. He catches sight of several of the ones from yesterday, most hand-in-hand with the parents who came to pick them up, and thinks for a moment about following. Instead, driven by a whim and a memory of loneliness, he turns back towards the school, trading the woman’s image for Sawada Nana’s as he moves between patches of shadow.

There are fewer people here, and most of them are uniformed shinobi moving quickly towards the largest building, the tallest in the village. Some sort of town center, maybe for administration, Mukuro thinks, marking it for later investigation. Little else seems centralized here, which is definitely a mixed blessing. Less information to access, but also fewer hurdles to duck if they want to stay under the radar.

Discarding Nana’s face in favor of his own once he’s out of sight of the building’s main entrance, Mukuro allows himself to slow slightly, steps closer to meandering. It’s easy to look contemplative and distracted even though the rest of his attention is on the path and its surroundings, even easier to spot a head of blond hair beneath the tree outside the school. The little boy he saw yesterday is perched on the swing again, pushing himself a little with one foot, and his head is bowed, the pair of goggles in his bright hair catching the light as he moves. No one else is nearby, no one is waiting, and the boy looks like he’s been sitting there for quite a while already.

Hibari is going to be _furious_ , Mukuro thinks with an amused chuckle. He heads up the hill and drops onto the grass beside the boy, leaning back on his hands, and says, “Oya, oya, that’s a heavy frown to be wearing on such a pretty day.”

The boy flinches before he’s even finished looking up, but Mukuro doesn’t allow his smile to waver. Bright blue eyes land on him, somewhere between wary and disbelieving, and the child can't be more than four years old. How strange that he’s out here alone, Mukuro thinks, and it’s as cold as the grave.

He wonders if Hibari heard the whispers yesterday. More than likely not, since Hibari has never concerned himself with other people’s opinions. Mukuro did, though; Mukuro knows all too well what it’s like to be treated as a monster, an outcast, an abomination.

After a moment, as if making sure that Mukuro really did speak to him, the boy offers a careful smile. “It’s really sunny!” he agrees.

Mukuro smiles back at him, watches stunned understanding slide across his face as he realizes that Mukuro doesn’t intend to do him harm. “A good day for playing outside,” he offers. “But it’s almost time for lunch, isn’t it?”

Blue eyes flicker up to the tower above them, then towards the ground, and the boy slumps a little. “Hokage-jiji was supposed to get ramen with me,” he says, and forces a smile that doesn’t fit his face. “He’s really important, so he must have gotten busy!”

Mukuro couldn’t have created a better opening if he had all day to plan it. “Then why don’t I keep you company until he remembers?” he suggests, and brings his hands up, pulling Mist Flames through his ring. Letting them pool in his hands is entirely for show, but the way the boy’s eyes widen makes it worthwhile, and Mukuro gives him a smirk over the indigo light of his will given form. “What should I make first, hm?”

The child’s mouth drops open, and he looks up at Mukuro’s face, then down at the Flames before a grin breaks out. He bounces on the swing, eager and happy, and says excitedly, “Can you make a bird?”

All it takes is a touch of intent and an owl is pulling itself free of the pool of Flames, wide wings pure white as they catch the air. Not the Box Weapon from the future, but inspired by it, and it sweeps past the blond’s nose, close enough for him to feel the brush of its feathers. He yelps and almost overbalances before Mukuro grabs his knee, but the boy’s attention is wholly on the owl as it circles and then soars away over the school.

“That’s so _cool_!” he enthuses, and in an instant he’s off the swing and all but attached to Mukuro’s shoulder. “What about a dog? Or a monkey? Or a fox! Can you make a flower?”

Mukuro chuckles, amused, and spreads his hands. “Whatever you want,” he says, and the sparks tremble and twist, reforming into the requested animals as flowers fall over them like rain. The dog immediately begins chasing its tail as the monkey starts tap-dancing, and the red fox leaps to catch a poppy out of the air and brings it over to lay at the boy’s feet.

Laughing with excitement, the blond reaches forward to pat it, and when his fingers connect with fur he audibly gasps. The fox barks at him, high-pitched and eager, and darts away, then stops a short distance off with its ears perked up.

When the boy turns wide eyes on Mukuro, the illusionist leans back on his hands, smirking, and tips his head. “I think she wants to play,” he says, like he’s sharing a secret. “Are you going to make her wait?”

The happiness on the boy’s face from such a simple illusion is more than enough to make Mukuro’s stomach churn, but he ignores it as the boy spins, chasing the vixen. She slips out from under his hands until the other two illusions join in, and then all four of them tumble over each other, the child laughing brightly.

Half of his attention on the boy, Mukuro concentrates on the owl for a moment, looking through its eyes. No one is approaching, though several groups of uniformed shinobi are hurrying into the village. It seems Mukuro’s disappearing act caused something of a stir.

He really, truly couldn’t care less.

There's a thud several inches from him, and he blinks back to himself, glancing up to find the boy sprawled out on his back and breathing hard. With a chuckle, Mukuro waves a hand and scatters the illusionary animals back into Flame, then leans over to give the boy a smile.

“I take it you like my tricks, then?” he asks, amused.

The boy gives him a grin so wide it must hurt his cheeks. “You must be the most awesome ninja ever if you can make those!” he says excitedly. “Hokage-jiji says genjutsus take lots an’ lots of chakra!”

“Ah, but I'm not a ninja at all,” Mukuro says, and when the boy’s eyes widen he touches a finger to his own lips and winks. “You can keep a secret, can't you?” He gets a vigorous nod in answer, and laughs. “I thought so. My name’s Mukuro, and I'm looking for someone to teach my secrets to.”

“I'm Naruto!” the boy says, scrambling to his feet. “Can you teach me? I won't show anyone else ever and I’ll do really good and—and—please?”

Mukuro makes a show of considering it, tapping his fingers against his chin thoughtfully as he looks Naruto over. “Oya, oya, you want to learn it that badly?”

Another vigorous nod, so enthusiastic Mukuro is surprised he doesn’t make himself dizzy. “I could make a _mom_ ,” Naruto says, like it’s a wonder. “And a dad! And a dog! And we could live in a big house and eat ramen all the time and we’d be _happy_!”

Mukuro laughs, helpless and bitterly amused, because he remembers dreams like that, scattered between the darkness and the pain. So simple, looking back, and so naïve. But he’d meant them more than he has anything since, he sometimes thinks. They were the realest thing about him, then and now.

“I think,” he says lightly, “that I would like to teach you, Naruto. But I'm going to be going away soon, and I don’t have time before then. You’d have to come with me.”

Naruto hesitates, looking at him and then looking back at the tower. Back, presumably, at the man who was supposed to meet him and then forgot. Maybe it was a mistake, or maybe it was malicious—Mukuro can't say for sure. He doesn’t need to, though; the act of forgetting is what hurts, rather than the meaning behind it.

“I live in a big house,” he says, and when Naruto glances at him he flips a hand over, Mist Flames twining around themselves and hardening into an image of the Vongola’s main mansion. A pause, long enough for Naruto to take it in, and then Mukuro closes his hand over it, returning it to wisps of indigo. “There are other children there too, and they won't call you a monster.”

Naruto flinches back like Mukuro took a swing at him, expression closing off. “You—you heard?” he asks, and the words waver, almost crack.

“Oya, oya,” Mukuro says gently, reaching out and offering Naruto his hands. He forewent his gloves when Tsunayoshi sent them to see Byakuran, and right now he’s glad of it, because Naruto is already watching him like he’s a threat. No need to be more frightening than he already is. “None of that, okay? I'm a monster, too, you know.”

Wide blue eyes blink, and Naruto looks between the offered hand and Mukuro’s face. “You don’t _look_ like a monster,” he says, almost accusingly.

“Neither do you,” Mukuro points out, and curls his fingers to beckon the boy closer. A small hand hesitantly settles in his, and Mukuro pulls him in, bending forward and brushing dark blue hair back to show Naruto his right eye. “See how it’s a different color?”

“Red,” Naruto says interestedly, and curiosity is overwhelming his fear. He touches Mukuro’s eyebrow, like he’s expecting to feel a difference, and says, “It looks like there's a number in it!”

“That’s because there is.” Mukuro doesn’t move as Naruto shifts closer, practically in his lap by now, to see the kanji etched into his pupil. “Do you know which one?”

“Six!” the boy says, like knowing is a victory, and if he’s taught himself the way Mukuro suspects, it is one.

“It looks like this because I've lived six lives,” Mukuro tells him. “And I remember all of them.” All the pain and suffering and death, all the fear and agony. But Naruto doesn’t need to know that. “The people who made me like this—they called me a monster, too.”

Naruto pulls back enough to look him in both eyes, expression solemn. “What did you do?” he asks.

Mukuro smirks at him, vicious and not trying to hide it. “I proved them right. They called me a monster, so I became a bigger monster than they had ever imagined and killed them. I might be a monster, but I'm a strong one, and I don’t have to be scared of anyone now.”

For a long, long moment, Naruto stares at him, biting his lips. Then, ever so softly, he whispers, “I don’t want to be sacred anymore, either.”

Mukuro squeezes his hand. “If you come with me, I’ll show you how,” he promises. A smirk, and he lets go of the owl illusion. “There won't be a mom or a dad, but we’ve got a Vongola Decimo, and that’s almost as good.”

“Decimo?” Naruto repeats curiously. “What's that?”

Mukuro chuckles, and if it’s a touch wicked, that’s only because he’s imagining Tsunayoshi’s face when confronted with a bright little boy who calls himself a monster and is perfectly happy to keep doing so. “He’s a very kind man with a soft spot for monsters like us.” Familiar, aggravated footsteps are approaching, so Mukuro presses a finger to his lips again. “Our secret, hm? If you want to come, let’s just tell people I'm kidnapping you, okay?”

“Okay,” Naruto agrees, something like mischief in his eyes. He reaches out, tentative and a little wary, but when Mukuro makes no move to push him away he curls his hand into the illusionist’s coat. A hesitation, and he asks, “There are other monsters there, too?”

Mukuro thinks of Xanxus, of Yamamoto with his cheerful assassin’s smile, of Reborn and Hibari and Chrome and Gokudera. All monsters, all different from everyone else, but loyal to one man. “Lots,” he agrees, and rises to his feet, taking Naruto with him. “You’ll fit right in, Naru-chan.”

The boy is tense and startled in his arms, like he’s never been held before, but Mukuro doesn’t hesitate as he turns, offering his lover a cheerfully mocking smile. “Oh my, is the pretty little skylark finally awake?”

Hibari looks at Naruto, then levels a glare at Mukuro. “I'm going to _bite you to death_ ,” he growls, and throws himself at Mukuro with his tonfa leading the way.

Mukuro laughs, whirling his trident up out of nothingness to block the blow, and grins at Hibari as tauntingly as he knows how. “How _violent_ , Kyōya, I'm carrying a _child_.”

At the reminder, Hibari snarls, pulling back enough to throw another bone-rattling blow at Mukuro’s head. “Idiot, you can't just _take_ a child!”

This is, of course, the moment Naruto decides to pipe up, still clinging to Mukuro’s jacket and looking enthusiastic about the violence. “He’s _kidnapping_ me,” he says brightly.

The noise Hibari makes in response to that is one more suited to a lion fighting over a kill. “ _No_ ,” he snaps.

Mukuro drowns him out, boosting Naruto up higher and saying with bright, malicious cheer, “Naru-chan, say hello to Kyōya! He’s the biggest monster ever, hm? But I like him a lot anyway!” A tonfa limned in purple Flames nearly takes off his head, but Mukuro ducks just in time. Laughing mockingly, he retreats several steps towards the tree, and Hibari snarls and lunges. The tonfa is at his side, though, and Mukuro has more than enough time to dodge if he wanted to. He doesn’t, and Hibari shoves him back against the trunk and kisses him hard, swallowing Mukuro’s giggles.

“Idiot,” he says sharply, pulling back, but his hand is still on Mukuro’s waist and he isn’t moving away.

“Oya, so cruel to me,” Mukuro laments, smirking.

Naruto is watching them both with interest. “Does this mean you're going to be my mom and dad?” he asks curiously.

Hibari’s eyes go wide, even as Mukuro dissolves into gales of laughter, and the Cloud Guardian jerks back. The curse Hibari spits at him is impressive, but only makes Mukuro laugh harder.

Before Hibari can do violence to either of them, though, there's a curl of impossibly familiar orange-gold Flames in the air before it parts, and Tsuna himself steps out. He takes one look at Hibari’s flushed, furious face, Mukuro wheezing as he hangs onto the tree for support, and Naruto with his arms around Mukuro’s neck, and very pointedly rolls his eyes.

“Mukuro,” he says reprovingly, folding his arms over his chest. It would be more intimidating if he’d ever managed to hit his growth spurt, but as it is Mukuro just keeps laughing.

With an exasperated sigh, Tsuna looks at Naruto. “I suppose you're coming with us?” he asks, sounding resigned.

“I'm being kidnapped!” Naruto announces cheerfully, beaming at him. “They're going to be my mom and dad now, since I don’t have any, an’ Mukuro is going to teach me his secrets ‘cause we’re both monsters!”

Valiantly, Mukuro attempts to choke off his snickers. It doesn’t work all that well.

“Monsters,” Tsuna repeats, and by the expression he’s wearing he knows that he’s already lost this argument before it even starts. “I _specifically_ recall Chrome saying she didn’t want to be an aunt at twenty-five, so you get to be the one to explain this to her.”

Hibari makes a sound of undirected rage, pulling his other tonfa out. “Byakuran,” he informs Tsuna, barely above a growl. “I'm going to bite him to death.”

Tsuna winces, no doubt imagining the paperwork that’s to come. He hands the Cloud Guardian a ring set with the Millefiore symbol, then turns to offer Mukuro another. “You're lucky they work on whatever you're carrying,” he says reprovingly. “Put them on and turn them once.”

Still chuckling, Mukuro slides it on his pinky and shows it to Naruto, who peers at it interestedly. “This will take us home, Naru-chan. You're about to get a lot of new family. Isn’t it exciting?”

“Yeah!” Naruto bounces in his grasp. “They're not going to think I'm bad and scary? They’ll like me?”

Mukuro opens his mouth to answer, but before he can Tsuna says in his Boss Voice, “Your name is Naru?”

Naruto's eyes go a little wide at the authoritative voice coming from Tsuna's otherwise gentle face. “It’s Naruto,” he says, slightly uncertain. “Uzumaki Naruto.”

Tsuna smiles at him, that particularly breathtaking smile that all but radiates his element, and he steps forward to take Naruto's hand in his own. “I'm Sawada Tsunayoshi,” he says gently. “Welcome to the family, Naruto. No one with us will _ever_ think badly of you, all right? We protect each other, and that means we’ll protect you too.”

Naruto stares at him for a moment, then squeaks something and buries his face in Mukuro’s coat. Instantly, Tsuna reels back, the Vongola Decimo replaced by a panicked young man waving his hands helplessly. “No, no, please don’t cry, I'm sorry for whatever I said—aieeeee!”

“Herbivore,” Hibari growls as Tsuna ducks away from him. “Either Byakuran or _you_ —I'm going to bite _one_ of you to death.”

“Oya, oya,” Mukuro says, pointedly loud, though he directs the words at Naruto. “I think you embarrassed him, calling him _dad_ like that, Naru-chan, but don’t worry, I'm happy to play mommy if you want me to.”

Tsuna goes red, then pale, and buries his face in his hands. “I—you—stop! _Please_!”

Mukuro cackles, dances away from the swing of Hibari’s tonfa, and twists the ring around his finger once. There's a swirl of orange Flames that manage to feel like home, and then they _are_ home, stepping out into the brightness of the meeting room. Byakuran is sprawled out in a chair he’s tipped backwards on two legs, bag of marshmallows in his lap, and the rest of the Guardians are hovering nearby.

“Mukuro-sama!” Chrome cries, and an instant later Mukuro has to drop his trident to catch her as she throws herself at him.

“Mukuro!” Gokudera echoes, looking relieved, and then freezes in his approach as he spots the limpet. “I— _what is that_?!”

“Oya, do you not know what a baby is, Hayato?” Mukuro asks in mock surprise. “Tsunayoshi and Takeshi must have shown you where they come from at the very least—”

“ _Mukuro_!” Tsuna screeches, tripping out of thin air just in time to hear his words. Gokudera lunges to catch him, but slips on Mukuro’s conveniently placed trident with a yelp, and they crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

“That’s a good start,” Mukuro confirms cheerfully, and nudges Chrome back as Hibari shimmers into view. Without even a second’s hesitation, the Cloud Guardian hurls himself at Byakuran, tonfas swinging, and the Millefiore boss jerks away, tipped chair losing its already precarious balance. He spills over backwards, Hibari leaping after him, and the room instantly descends into chaos as half the Guardians lunge to stop the fight while the remaining ones cheer the participants on.

Snickering, Mukuro hooks an arm around Chrome’s shoulders, resettles Naruto on his hip, and saunters out of the room, letting the heavy door fall shut behind them.

“Where do babies come from?” Naruto asks, scrunching his nose up in confusion. “From people wrestling?”

“Storks bring them,” Mukuro says breezily, feeling Chrome’s pointed stare boring into the side of his head. It neatly stops any more honest answers he might be tempted to make. Chrome has become very, very good at getting her way through any means. Mukuro is so proud. “Naru-chan, this is Chrome. She’s a monster too.”

Naruto squints at her for a moment, then says, “You look more like an angel.”

Chrome flushes, but offers him a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Naru-chan,” she says. “Mukuro-sama saved me when I was younger. Did he save you too?”

“My _reputation_ ,” Mukuro laments, steering them towards the back garden. “I'm a big, scary monster who lurks in the darkness, I don’t _save_ people.”

Chrome giggles, opening the door for him. “Of course, Mukuro-sama.” Holding out her arms, she smiles at Naruto and asks, “Do you want to play with me, Naru-chan?”

By the look on Naruto's face, one would think she just offered him the world on a platter.

“Yes!” he says, and wriggles out of Mukuro’s hold to stumble forward and grab her hand. “Can you make animals and flowers and birds, like Mukuro can?”

“I can,” Chrome confirms, leading him down the wide steps and onto the grass.

Mukuro watches them go with a chuckle, leaning against the railing around the patio, and doesn’t turn when the door slams open and then falls shut.

“Ah, how disappointing. Did he escape the fearsome skylark already?” he asks, smirking.

“Shut up,” Hibari grunts, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling pointedly at nothing. “I'm going to bite him to death next time I see him.”

“Follow the screams,” Mukuro advises, and when silver eyes narrow at him he chuckles, waving a hand. “You know how cockroaches get into everything. Especially sweets. Such a shame, isn’t it?”

Hibari’s smirk takes on a feral edge, and he grabs Mukuro by the collar, crowding him back against the railing and dragging him down into a deep, fierce kiss. Mukuro moans, pressing into it, and _maybe_ about ten percent is for show, for the high-pitched shriek Tsuna lets out as he goes stumbling back from the doors, but the rest of his reaction is entirely genuine.

When they break apart, there's a light in Hibari’s eyes that isn’t just the thrill of the hunt. “The boy gets his own room,” he says pointedly, opening his hand and letting Mukuro’s shirt slide through his fingers.

“Agreed,” Mukuro breathes, and Hibari gives him a smirk and disappears back into the mansion just as a disgusted wail shatters the air.

Mukuro laughs wickedly and vaults over the bannister to join Naruto and Chrome.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] rattle this ghost town](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922137) by [graycalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/graycalls/pseuds/graycalls)
  * [rattle this ghost town [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149143) by [Opalsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalsong/pseuds/Opalsong)




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